All this week I’ve had insomnia. I thought I was coping well with the anovulation diagnosis. Everyone who asked “Are you stressed?” followed by “You know that can affect your periods right?” was met with a cheery “Nah! I’m OK. Obviously I’m a bit worried but I wasn’t stressed when this started so stress can’t be the root cause”.
But I admit it, I am stressed.
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This won’t be a long post. I just wanted to keep you updated on what’s happening with the investigations into “The Case of the Disappearing Periods”.
My GP ordered a slew of blood tests following my ultrasound scans that indicated anovulation (no ovulation). I went for a progesterone blood test 7 days after ovulation was supposed to have occured, since a progesterone test can be used to confirm whether ovulation did/did not occur. Continue reading
I have spent my weekend on tenderhooks waiting and wondering whether Aunt Flo is going to grace me with her presence this cycle (well technically to start a new cycle).
She was officially due on Sunday, but since my cycles range from 24-26 days I was looking out for her any day from Friday. I know when you’re waiting for something and watching for it like a hawk it takes ages (“a watched kettle never boils”), but following my appointment with the doc a week ago I have forms here for 6 blood tests to be done on CD2. I’m not a massive fan of walk-in clinics so I tried to be pro-active by booking appoints for Saturday and this morning (if Sunday had been CD2 I’d just have to have tested CD3). So of course…nothing!
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The day I went to TBMP (The Baby Making Place) for my AMH blood test I travelled all the way up into central London early on a Saturday morning plagued with weekend engineering works messing up the trains… only to be there for 15 minutes! So as I mosied on back down Regent Street towards Charing Cross I reached Piccadilly, and there welcoming me like the prodigal daughter was my spiritual home – the giant Waterstones.
This shop and I have spent so many hours together when I attended university and then worked in the area. I love it (because I love books) and it’s impossible to go in for just a few minutes because they have masses and masses of books about everything! So you know what’s coming next…
Last week I had my NHS ultrasound (still no signs of ovulation) and then went to see my GP to discuss the results of the consultation at the private fertility clinic. In the 5 days between the fertility clinic consultation and seeing my GP I’d been doing some serious thinking about whether this really is the time to go ahead with “Operation Baby”.
I’d always said that I wanted to TTC before I got to an age where I’d be likely to need medical intervention, whether that be conceiving with a partner or through donor insemination, hence I’d had age 35 in mind as the “cut off”. Having just turned 33 I’d been thinking I’d probably try to get a deposit together to buy a house/flat next year, spend a few months settling in, and then TTC just before or just after 35. I’d never imagined that medical intervention, actual fertility treatment, would be required at age 33. But here I am faced with that exact situation.
Sunday 13th September 2015.
I’m never going to forget that date. That’s the day that, with my heart in my throat and butterflies in my tummy, I went up to TBMP (“The Baby Making Place”) in London to find out whether my lady organs were still in functioning order.
First of all I was met by a nurse who took my paperwork and explained what would happen that day; then I was taken in to meet Dr B. He seemed nice and I’ve long got over feeling weird about seeing male doctor when it involves my lady bits – the man’s a gynaecologist, he must be sick of the sight of vagina all day long!
Anyhoo…
The story of a wannabe mama 